


for lisa, forever ago (i love you)

by orphan_account



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Character Death, Nightmares, Unrequited Love, harry remembers and wishes he didn’t, sort of it’s complicated and she’s dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: harry can’t bring himself to say it.
Relationships: Harry Mason/Lisa Garland
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	for lisa, forever ago (i love you)

He’d had the dream again. 

Well, ‘the dream’ always felt like a vague way of putting it. He missed the good nights, when she came to him, how they walked together in the heavy fog, her hand in his. Her smile, her laugh— he was going to be sick. Her name tumbled from his lips like penance. 

“Lisa.” 

Harry rubbed his eyes and stared into the moonlight that poured from his bedroom window. Heather was sleeping soundly in her crib. He was at home with his daughter, not in that place, not in that dream. He didn’t even know if she had been real, or ‘one of them’, but her face— and the red. All over the town, or what it had become, what happened that day, the contents spilling out like a pot boiling over. All over her face. And she was smiling. Would she forgive him for what he’d done, or berate him like he deserves, for leaving her to die? If she were real. If she were alive. 

“Lisa.” 

He said it again, sitting up on his unorganized bed. Just something, anything, to convince himself that place had been real, that it had happened, that she— the alarm clock on the bedside table read 4:28 AM. Glowering red across the spanse of his room, coating the shine of his leather jacket on the wall. The one he’d worn then. When she’d banged on the door, sobbing his name, the way she did every night while he slept. And Harry was afraid of her. 

Of what she’d become. 

Frustrated, Harry made his way to the kitchen to put on the coffee. It wasn’t her fault and he knew it. She was afraid of the cult, of her addiction, of what Kaufman had done to her. He was afraid for her. But he still had held the door shut. Leaning on the counter and closing his eyes, he tried to remember the good; the memories and the dreams. How she smiled at him that night, the lilt in her voice when she said his name. All the dreams he’d had of brushing her hair behind her ear, lacing their fingers together, leaning down to...

No. He couldn’t. Harry knew it would be easier to just think it, just say the words, but he couldn’t. 

The coffee pot kept brewing, and Harry stood in the kitchen alone.


End file.
